


Grief, Cops and Acrylic Paint

by Werewolves_and_Sangria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU where most people are still alive, Artist Stiles, Demon Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Police Officer Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werewolves_and_Sangria/pseuds/Werewolves_and_Sangria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is a painter in New York. Having relocated from Paradise, California after the death of his mother 14 years ago. Derek Hale is a newly transferred agent with the New York branch of BEACON, Beastial, Extraterrestrial and Cryptozoological Organization of North America. When supernaturals came out into the light Stiles had no idea he would fall for a werewolf cop or how twisted his family tree really would turn out.</p><p>AKA The one where Stiles paints for a living, Derek is a police officer with a motorcycle and a love of coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the third and hopefully but not likely final draft of Grief, Cops and Acrylic Paint. I am still without a beta to edit my ramblings. If you are interested in the job just drop me a message here or on Tumblr @boozeandwolves with why you want the job. I mostly rewrote the story because I felt the earlier versions lacked depth. And cause it was this or pull out my eyebrows. And yes I do sometimes reference my other fandoms within the work. So if you can spot the ref good for you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is technically Chapter 0. It is part of a later chapter that I felt would make a good introduction to the story.

Hide your face so the world will never find you!  
  
†  
  


Derek could not believe he agreed to this. To be, he shuddered at the word, arm candy for his sister. Yet there he was at a gallery show, feeling out of sorts in slacks and a dress shirt amid a kaleidoscope of fashions and people. He had never liked the social scene growing up. Even though his parents were always trying to drag him to society functions he'd much rather stay at home reading. That's what he would have been doing tonight, if only it weren't for Laura. She had always been the one to force him out of his comfort zone.

 

  
It wasn't long before Derek felt that pull in his chest again. Lasting several heartbeats before fading amid the heat of bodies and the noise of gossip. Derek looked back up at the sign proclaiming the name of the series, Reflections in Broken Glass. It was his understanding that the artist had taken mundane models and transformed them into supernatural beings. Supernaturals had been out in the light since before Derek was born, yet it was still a strange concept for him. The Reluctant Alpha. That's what Laura had been calling him since the accident. The memory sent a shiver up his back so he decided to distract himself with the painting in front of him.

 

  
Emblazoned onto the canvas amid the smoke and ash of a burned forest stood a lone woman. Dark skin glowing in the gloom, hair tied into braids and dreadlocks. Silver armor covered her body and she kneels before a sword half stabbed into the snow. Her expression dared the viewer to move closer at the same time it seemed as if he face were downcast, in mourning perhaps.

 

  
"He did a really good job on her," Laura said taking a sip of champagne, "don't you think so Derek?"

 

  
"Hmm?" Derek looked at his sister, snapping back to reality, "Yeah. It's very life like." Derek looked back at the titlecard as Laura and he walked away, Vengeance and Loss .

 

  
The pair moved to the next portrait still arm in arm. This canvas displayed a petite red-head in a claw-foot tub. But the water wasn't clear. It was murky and dark, river grass and cattails sprouted out in bursts amid the murky damp. The model was wearing a gauzy green dress. Barely a dress, more of a slip. It left little to the imagination of the viewer. The only adornment was an old-fashioned key on a delicate chain around her neck. Her face was split into a scream, crimson lips open. Derek couldn't tell if the model was experiencing pain or pleasure. He looked down at the name plate for some help discerning, Mourning Lost Love .

 

  
The next painting was dark. Not plain like the greys of the first or mossy like the second. It was dark skies and darker mountains. The subject was a woman sitting on the edge of a cliff. A sword and shield rest on the ground beside her, hands resting on her pregnant stomach. However the most surprising aspect of the painting was the large feathered wings arching from her back. Feathers seemed to fall as blood dripped to the ground and yet the model had a peaceful expression. Derek could almost hear the lullaby being sung by mother to unborn child. Derek let out a soft sigh, remembering the songs his mother used to sing him to sleep with. Derek turned expecting to find Laura only to not see her.

 

  
He looked around the crowded gallery and soon found her looking at a portrait painted in muted shades of blue and purple. Crossing the gallery, Derek stared at the painting, recognition slowly sinking in.

 

  
This portrait was one of Laura. She was painted sitting in a lavish dressing room, a silk robe between being worn and removed, Laura was partially turned to face the viewer, hair obscuring half her face but showing the scars on her back that never healed quite right. The walls held a floral patterned wallpaper that almost looked to be wolfs-bane. But the most startling thing was that the reflection in the mirror wasn't Laura as she was in the foreground, but Laura's wolf. Bright yellow eyes shinning, teeth sharp and vicious. Looking down at the name card Derek read  Beauty hides many pains .

 

  
"Is this what you brought me here to see?!" Derek asked, temper flared at the sight of her scars on display, remembering that she only had them from protecting him.

 

  
"No Derek," Laura said softly, trying to calm Derek down, "This is..."

 

  
Laura pulled Derek over to a canvas, the only one of it's kind in the gallery. One that displayed a male form. The face was not seen but Derek knew who it was immediately by the tattoo imprinted between the subject's shoulder-blades. The same tattoo that was on his own back. Turning back to his sister, Derek shouted, "What the hell, Laura?"

 

In a low voice Laura responded, "Why don't you go ask the artist?" Laura turned to gesture towards someone in a baggy red hoodie. The guy was all wild hair and long limbs. Yet he somehow felt familiar. When he turned around Derek was brought back to a memory he had buried.

 

One of his sisters and him at the library in their home town. A woman with long brown hair and amber eyes sat in a rocking chair reading from a big book of fairy tales. On her lap sat a little boy, wearing a red hoodie. He had her amber eyes and a smattering of freckles.

 

Derek was pulled out of the memory by the tug in his chest and had a realization. The man in the red hoodie in front of him had the same eyes. The eyes Derek has been seeing at the coffee shop.

 

†  
  
 

Stiles kept asking himself why he let them talk him into a gallery showing. He made a vow to never get drunk around Danny again. Looking down at the wine glass in his hand, Stiles sighed. Starting tomorrow no more drinking around Danny. The charismatic gallery owner and self-proclaimed patron of the arts went to school with Lydia and Stiles. Where those two had specialized in dance and the visual arts, Danny was a musician. Danny spent his days laying down music tracks for musicians and his nights running the art gallery Stiles found himself standing in.

 

Stiles looked around the gallery seeing a couple friendly faces but mostly strangers. And then Stiles locked eyes with an unexpected and angry gaze. The hot werewolf from the coffee shop. And who else would he be here with than Laura. "Why wouldn't he be with Laura? They're both werewolves. Both of them are attractive," Stiles said to no one in particular. Turning away, Stiles set down the glass of champagne and headed towards the back exit.

 

He made it to the exit to the alley followed close by Lydia. "What is going on Stiles?" she asked in that best friend way. Demanding yet kind.

 

"Laura..." Stiles said leaning against the alley wall, "She's here with the guy from the coffee shop..."

 

"Yeah, they're..." Lydia's words end abruptly as she lets out a blood chilling scream.

 

Stiles turned and saw a hulking werewolf standing in the mouth of the alley. The werewolf lunged and a switch in Stiles was flipped. He started to see everything in slow motion. When the werewolf got to Stiles, he grabbed the attacker by it's wrist and flipped it into a wall. Stiles made a sound with his tongue, "Very rude of you. Showing up to a party uninvited." Stiles' gripped the werewolf by it's neck, pulling it up against the wall. His grip tightened cutting off the attacker's airway.

 

"Stiles stop!" Lydia shouted from behind him.

 

The moment Stiles looked over his shoulder the wolf swing out and slashed across Stiles' chest and stomach. Stiles gripped harder cutting off his attacker's air completely before himself collapsing.


	2. Chapter 2

“In fear I hurried this way and that. I had the taste of blood and chocolate in my mouth, the one as hateful as the other.”

 

†

 

Stiles could still remember the first time he felt it. That dark wave of energy wash over him and into him. He knew a girl once who would have seizures. She always told him they left a taste of blood on her tongue. That's what Stiles thought this was, a seizure. But it wasn't just blood he tasted. There was something sweet and bitter there too. A taste of blood and chocolate. He'd remember what it felt like, what it tasted like forever. Only because this was the night he changed. Stiles went from being a normal 18 year old to something different, something inhuman. And it all started the night his best friend Lydia and he were attacked by a werewolf.

 

†

 

Stiles had never been one for the bar scene. But he was mostly here for moral support. His best friend, confidant and room-mate Lydia was up on stage, wailing into a microphone. Newbies to The Rabbit Hole might just assume the fiery red head was singing karaoke up on the stage. That would be until they see the motley group of women playing instruments behind her. The owner of The Rabbit Hole, one Laura Hale, former paralegal and current bar owner, hired the girls after hearing them perform one song, Piece of my Heart.

 

So that is how Stiles had found himself leaning back against the bar, sipping a free beer and giving the occasional thumbs up to Lydia. Then again if Lydia hadn’t dragged him out of the house tonight he’d likely be at home in pjs, painting. What else is an art school grad to do? He didn’t really have to work thanks to the settlement from the lawsuit.

 

†

 

When Stiles was nine years old his mother got sick. Some kind of cancer, Stiles didn't care all he knew is that his mother was sick and he wanted her better. The hospital was treating her but it wasn't helping. After she passed away it came to light that the hospital had been using a lower grade of medicine than they claimed they were. And the Stilinskis weren't the only family affected. The families got together and filed suit against the hospital. Which led to a large payout to keep it out of the public eye.

 

Which is how Stiles found his father and himself moving from quiet and coastal California to the hustle and bustle of NYC. Stiles father had been selected to work with the NYPD as a liaison for a new department BEACON. BEACON was a specialized task force designed to handle threats and promote relations between the average population and the supernatural one. Before Stiles was born there was a movement where all sorts of species came to light. The kind of things you'd hear about in faerie tales and monster movies. Werewolves and shifters, warlocks and vampires, all coming out into the light and the pubic eye. Like the rest of society they had their idols and their criminals. As Stiles' father explained to him, it was now his job to help keep people safe from the bad guys just in a different city.

  
  


So they packed up the small home and made the trip across the states, settling in a condo provided by BEACON. Stiles had always loved art and he had slowly become a talented painter. So when it came time for high school his father enrolled him in an art based school. There he met his best friend, Lydia Martin. Lydia was one of the schools top ballet students. She and Stiles became the best of friends faster than you could blink.

  
  


When it came time for college Stiles branched out on his own. He used part of the trust left by the settlement to buy a loft in a refurbished factory. It had concrete floors and exposed beams but it was warm. More important it was home. And it just so happened to have enough room for a pull-out couch in case Lydia would need to spend the night after a breakup with her on-again off-again boyfriend, Jackson. Sadly the pull-out bed rarely got used as Lydia often took Stiles bed and left him stuck sprawled out on the couch, occasionally in the claw-foot tub.

 

†

 

But back to the now. A new drink is set down on the bar next to Stiles by the vivacious blonde bartender that works for Laura, Erica, Stiles thinks her name is. But he can’t quite remember for sure. He can’t tell if it’s the music from the stage or the warm numbness of the beer in his system. Erica leans in and whispers, “From the hottie over there.” Stiles looks over and sees a familiar face, Danny Mahealani, the owner of the gallery Stiles sells his paintings to. He lifts the drink in a silent cheers to his financier before taking a sip before returning his attention to the stage.

 

Lydia wales out some tune about revenge and heartbreak. Probably something she wrote after Jackson broke her heart but before she broke her ankle. She didn’t get into singing until she had to drop out of Julliard’s ballet program. It was for the best though, Stiles thought to himself, knowing Lydia only studied ballet in the first place because her mother was a prima ballerina before having Lydia’s older sister.

 

The song made Stiles think about his mother and how she used to sing to him. She was singing at a karaoke bar when she met his father. He was on a date in the bar. Stiles' father always said that when you meet the person you're meant to be with the world slows down and speeds up at the same time. Stiles' father went back to the bar every night for a week before working up the courage to ask her out. They were married within the year and had Stiles not too long after. Stiles brushed off the cobwebs of his past and returned focus to Lydia and her singing. Only to realize that she had finished her set and was leaving the stage. This signaled to Stiles it was time to escort the tipsy singer back to their loft.

 

†

 

“So that song tonight,” Stiles says, putting his hands in the pockets of his red hoodie.

 

Lydia shoots him a glittered glance, “What about it?”

 

“Was it about Jackson...” Stiles pauses, “Or somebody new?”

 

Lydia stops to unzip her platform boots, returning to her natural barely 5 foot 3. She trades the boots for a pair of flats from her tote bag and says, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

 

Stiles stops, waiting for her to catch up, “I saw how you were looking at that blonde bartender. What was her name? Heather...Josie...”

 

“Erica. Her name is Erica,” Lydia says finally catching up to Stiles, “And it's not serious between us. Just a little fun.”

 

Stiles shrugs and resumes walking, “If you say so. Just remember how you get...”

 

Lydia stops dead in her tracks and says, “How do I...” The rest of what she was going to say is lost in a soul wrenching scream from Lydia. Stiles turns to face what startled the petite redhead only to see a dark shape hunched over a woman's prone form. Then everything went black. The last thing Stiles could think is how harsh the taste in his mouth was. Metallic and coppery yet warm and sweet. He would remember it til he died, blood and chocolate as he welcomed the darkness...


	3. Confusion, Counsel and Coffee

“ Grieve. Grieve and move on.”

  
  


†

  
Stiles woke up in his loft, fully dressed in the baggy hoodie, tight t-shirt and relaxed jeans he wore out the night before. He swung his legs over the edge of his second-hand couch, a gift from his father upon finding the loft, expecting to feel cool concrete only to realize he was still wearing his shoes. As he walked into the kitchen to pour his morning cup of coffee a loud banging from the front door caught his attention. Lydia peered over the bannister of the second level shouting, “Answer the door!”

  
  


Stiles' grumbled to himself setting the coffee down to answer the door as Lydia strode down the spiral staircase clad in just a silk kimono. By the time Stiles' gets to the door he knows Lydia has already gotten to his coffee. Stiles slides the heavy metal door open and sees a man standing there in a perfectly pressed suit. “I'm sorry but whatever you're selling, we're not buying buddy.”

  
  


As Stiles starts to close the door the man says, “Mr. Stilinski? This is the apartment shared by one Mr. Stilinski and a Ms. Martin?”

  
  


Lydia strides up and leans against Stiles, “I am Miss Martin and this is Stiles. Mr. Stilinski is his father. Can we help you?”

  
  


The man in the suit looks down at an electronic tablet before looking back up and holding out a business card. “Agent Deaton. I'm here on behalf of the New York branch of BEACON. The...”

  
  


“The Beastial, Extraterrestrial and Cryptozoological Organization of North America,” Stiles recounts, “I know what BEACON is. My dad is the NYPD Liaison.”

  
  


The agent, Deaton, shifted his weight from one foot to another, “May I come in? I have a pressing matter to discuss with the both of you. It's rather time sensitive...”

  
  


Stiles and Lydia move aside and Deaton steps into the apartment. “You can sit down on the couch over there,” Stiles says gesturing to the place he just woke up, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  
  


“No thank you,” Deaton replied sitting down, “It is my understanding that the both of you witnessed a rogue werewolf attack last night.”

  
  


Stiles sits down in an arm chair across from the couch, “I thought that was just a dream...” Lydia says, sitting on the arm of the chair.

  
  


“It did in fact happen Miss Martin,” Deaton replies looking down at his tablet, “And our examination of the crime scene and trace evidence left behind by both of you has shown interesting results...”

  
  


“Which means what?” Stiles nearly shouts, getting impatient, he stands up and walks over to the counter to take his adderall. “And you can drop the cop talk, I get enough of it when I talk to my father.”

  
  


“Well I don't quite know how to say this but...” Deaton looks up from his tablet, “You Miss Martin bare the genetic marker of bean sidhe.”

  
  


“But that's not possible...Nobody in my family...Not even my great-grandmother...” Lydia mutters to herself.

  
  


Stiles walks back over, Lydia having taken his spot he resumes hers, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders. Looking up at Deaton he asks, “What the heck is a bean side?”

  
  


“Bean sidhe...the wailing woman...” Lydia responds. “There were stories about my great-grandmother's mother. She knew when someone in her town would be close to death...She would scream when it happened...Uncontrollable...Even if she was alone far from where it happened...”

  
  


“This is no cause for alarm Miss Martin,” Deaton says looking up, “We can teach you how to control your gift...”

  
  


“Well what about me?” Stiles asks, “You said we both interesting results.”

  
  


“You Mr. Stilinski are something I've only ever seen once...” Deaton turns over the tablet to show the blood work. “You have demon blood in your system...Which I have seen in cases of people injecting...But your work is different...”

  
  


“Different how?” Stiles asks, his patience waning.

  
  


“It is merged with human genetic traits...” Deaton says setting down the tablet.

  
  


“So you're saying I'm a half-demon?” Stiles asks standing up, “That's not possible. My dad is human. So was my mother.”

  
  


“We can tell you that your father is human as we have his blood on file with BEACON,” Deaton says, “Which means...”

  
  


“Don't you dare...” Stiles says, shaking slightly. Lydia stands up and wraps an arm around his lower back, “Don't you tell me anything about her...”

  
  


“Stiles...” Lydia looks up, “I think you better go Agent Deaton.”

  
  


“Yes...” Deaton stands and hands Lydia a card, “So you can contact me when you are both ready.”

  
  


Lydia escorts Deaton to the door, closes it behind him and walks over to where her purse sits on a bench. Fishing out her cellphone she dials a number she wishes she didn't know so well, “Hello Marin? Do you think you can fit Stiles in today? He just got some strange news and I think you could help more than I can...” Hanging up the phone Lydia goes back over to Stiles. “Stiles we're gonna go over to Sky in a Cup to get you some good coffee. And then we're gonna go see Marin. Okay?” Lydia looks up as Stiles nods. Smiling Lydia says, “You sit down I'm going to put some clothes on.”


	4. Painted Faces and Painful Memories

“ Hide your face so the world will never find you. ”

  
  


†

  
Stiles felt shaken and twitchy. For most people coffee wouldn't be the immediate thought, but apparently Stiles wasn't like most people. He waited by the door where Lydia deposited him when she went up for their usual orders, plus one for Marin Morrell. Stiles had been seeing Marin since he moved to New York City when he was ten years old. It was his father's idea to help Stiles deal with the loss of his mother.

  
  


Stiles' train of thought was thankfully cut off by practically running down a stranger in the streets. Stiles sees a flash of red eyes. But before he can think or offer a proper apology Lydia links arms and drags him off.

  
  


†

  
When Stiles and Lydia make it to Marin's apartment the door swings open before they have a chance to knock. Stiles and Lydia jump back to avoid running into the willowy figure. Looking up as she puts on her sunglasses the pair realize it's Laura, owner of The Rabbit Hole. Smiling weakly, “Oh hi Lydia, Stiles. I didn't realize you...knew Marin.”

  
  


Lydia pipes up, “Stiles has been seeing her for years. He's even painting her for his next showcase”

  
  


Laura smiles with surprise, “Stiles do you have a card? I've been dying to get a portrait done.” Stiles opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by a blaring ring-tone, Laura puts up a finger before answering, “Oh hey D.” Turning to Lydia and Stiles she says, “I really should take this.” Stiles settles for handing her his card as she walks off, talking excitedly into the cellphone.

  
  


Stiles tightens his grip on the duffel bag of art supplies as he steps into Marin's office. He notices that the therapist has already set up his usual corner. As long as Stiles has been seeing Marin Morrell, he had been painting during his sessions. His current project was nearly done. A portrait of Marin in standing in a battle graveyard. She kneels before a sword half stabbed into the snow, dressed in Norse armour, long hair blowing in the breeze.

  
  


“So Stiles,” Marin says walking in from her apartment's adjoining door, “Why the sudden urgency in today's appointment? Miss Martin said you received some startling news.”

  
  


Stiles unpacks his art supplies, setting the canvas on the easel, “I found out something about my mother...Something I don't quite know how to deal with.”

  
  


Marin crosses the room, picking up the coffee Lydia brought in before leaving. “Well Stiles, what do we do when we don't know how to process?”

  
  


Stiles momentarily reverts to his 10-year-old self. “We paint it,” he says, removing his hoodie and taking his paints, palette and brushes out of the bag. He starts by squeezing paint onto the palette while Marin brings over a jar of water. Stiles starts the highlights in portrait Marin's hair, “This morning a BEACON agent came to the loft. He told us that Lydia and I had been at the scene of a crime...”

  
  


“What kind of crime?” Marin asks taking her usual seat in front of the window.

  
  


“There was a werewolf attack...But I don't remember it,” Stiles says briefly looking at his therapist before going back to the canvas. “I remember an odd taste...Metal but sweet...”

  
  


“I had the taste of blood and chocolate in my mouth, one as hateful as the other.”

  
  


Stiles looks up, “what did you just say?”

  
  


“It's just a quote. From Steppenwolfe by Herman Hesse,” Marin calmly replies sipping her coffee. “So what was the news?”

  
  


Putting the brush he was using into the jar of water and reaching for a new one Stiles sighs. “According to the BEACON agent...Deaton or something...He told me that I am a half-demon...”

  
  


“Which means your mother was a demon?” Marin asks setting down her coffee.

  
  


Stiles picks up a new brush and starts painting the highlights on the armour in the portrait, “That or a fallen angel.” Stiles glances around the canvas, “You know I can deal with vampires, and werewolves and fae existing...But I just can't process all this angels and demons stuff.”

  
  


“Why?” Marin asks standing, “Does it make you question your faith? Whether or not God and the Devil exist?”

  
  


Stiles shrugs, returning his focus to the painting. The rest of the hour is spent with Morrell sitting in silence, Stiles brush scraping over the canvas.

  
  


†

  
When Stiles arrives back at the loft, having taken a cab home to transport the finished portrait he opens the door in surprise. Sitting on his couch is Lydia and of all people the feisty bartender Laura Hale. Only Laura doesn't look like herself...Her brow is too prominent, eyes too bright and Stiles realizes the reason. Laura is a werewolf. Dropping his bag beside the door Stiles sighs and says, “Banshee for a roommate and two werewolves in one day?”


	5. A New Start in New York

“No time to say hello. Goodbye. I'm rather, very, late.”

 

†

 

Derek brushed off the feeling, telling himself it was just the ring on a chain he wore around his neck. After tucking the paintbrush into his pocket he glanced at his watch and realized he was close to being late for work. Pulling on his helmet, Derek mounted the bike and sped off downtown. People often asked Derek why he chose to get around by motorcycle when most cities have buses and some have subway systems. He would just tell people he liked feeling free, the wind rushing around him, nobody controlling where he goes. The truth however is much simpler. Derek swore off cars the day his parents died.

 

†

 

His mother and father were driving his sisters and himself back from visiting some relatives in upstate California. They were visiting to celebrate the lunar eclipse. This was a special time for Derek's family as they were part of a large family of werewolves. It was a family reunion of sorts. On the way home a truck swerved into oncoming traffic. The impact killed Derek's parents instantly. In the back seat he was sitting with his younger sister Cora beside him, and his elder sister Laura on Cora's other side. Just before the impact Derek threw himself up to cover Cora from the broken glass. Laura being the overprotective big sister did the same for Derek.

 

Help arrived just in time for Laura. A large shard of glass cut into her back and partially severed her spine. If she had been human she would have died instantly. Though her accelerated healing repaired her wound it didn't help her collapsed lung. The doctors at the hospital told Derek that Laura had died for less than a minute in the ambulance, but Derek didn't need them to tell him this had happened. He knew the moment it happened because an overwhelming strength came over him. He had become his family's alpha.

 

With the money from their parents' life insurance policies the three lived their lives. Laura eventually studied for and passed the BAR exam, only to open an actual Bar in Manhattan. Cora decided to study music, the violin. Derek decided to go into law enforcement and eventually joined BEACON. But with Cora going to school in Paris and Laura in New York he couldn't stand to stay in his family home. Thus he applied for a transfer from California to the New York branch of BEACON.

 

 

†

 

Derek was pulled back from his train of thought by a loud honk. He pulled over to the curb and parked his motorcycle having driven to BEACON HQ on auto-pilot. Cutting the ignition to his bike, he stood, removed his helmet and smoothed his shirt. Derek pulls out his cellphone and dials the same number he has dialled at noon every Friday for the past 6 years. “Hey Big Sis,” he says into the phone, “Just making my weekly check-in....How was the appointment?” Derek made a habit of calling Laura after her weekly therapy session with Dr. Marin Morrell. Most people who knew Morrell as a therapist knew that she dealt with issues of trauma. Few knew her speciality was helping supernaturals. “Yes I will be by tonight for drinks. See you then sis, I'm running late.” Derek clicks the end button before turning off his phone, sliding it back into his pocket.

 

Derek prepares himself as he heads through the glass doors to BEACON HQ. He makes his way to the front desk, where an aloof looking guard hands him a laminated ID badge that Derek clips onto the hem of his shirt. Ignoring the stares of his now coworkers Derek heads to the office of his new boss Victoria Argent. Before joining BEACON, Derek thought the Argents were a myth. Something lycan parents told their children to get them to behave. Having met the sharp featured striking Victoria, Derek felt intimidated. Yet after Victoria explained how times had changed the motto of the hunters, he felt more relaxed. Today though Victoria was in a heated debate with a man in a dark blue suit. Knocking on the door Victoria gestured Derek into her glass office.

 

“How could you have been so foolish Victoria?” the man asked, obviously fuming. “My own son. A suspect? And your agent telling him? We agreed if he ever came up in an investigation I WOULD HANDLE IT!”

 

Looking past the man berating her Victoria offered a calm, “Derek, welcome to BEACON. As I am currently going over some things with Detective Stilinski, our NYPD liaison,” the man standing in Victoria's office turns to give Derek a once-over, “My daughter, and weapons specialist, Allison will give you the tour.” Before Victoria even finishes her sentence her office door opens to show an athletic brunette that Derek pegs to be around 25. Derek glances down and realizes that this woman is also pregnant. On his way out Derek catches sight of an NYPD detective bag and a gun attached to the man's belt.

 

“Good morning Agent Hale,” Allison says, “If you will follow me I'll give you the tour and show you where you'll be working.”

 

Derek follows, trying to keep up with the woman's elegant stride. Along the way Allison points out various rooms and hallways, “We have a full morgue on site, several conference rooms, a wonderfully stocked armoury, and our archaic library isn't to shabby either.” They stop at an office labelled S. McCall and below that D. Hale. “This is your office and your partner Scott.” The door opens and the pair step in, Allison soon lifted off her feet and twirled by a boyish looking agent Derek assumes is S. McCall. After being set down Allison introduces her twirler, “Derek this is Scott. He's only been with us for a year, but I am sure the two of you will get along. Now if you'll excuse me I have to check in with Isaac...Or he just wants to make sure I'm not working too hard.”

 

Derek moves over to the ready desk that bares his name plate. Scott immediately starts an animated conversation, “How are you liking your first day? Nobody gives a ten-cent tour like Allison.”

 

“You two seem very close...” Derek says, not sure how to react to someone of such high energy.

 

“We ought to be, she is the mother of my soon-to-be child,” Scott says sitting on the edge of his desk, “Or Isaac's. We don't really want to know. We thought it would be better that way.”

 

“Isaac's or your child...?” Derek asks, not sure if he wants the answer.

 

“Agent Lahey, works in runes and linguistics,” Scott says uncrossing his arms, “Him and I have been together for 8 years now. Been mated since I got bit around 6 years ago. You know how it goes, out celebrating your anniversary with a moonlit stroll, get bit by a werewolf, turn and end up killing the wolf that turns you only to bite your boyfriend.”

 

Derek pauses, “And Allison is your surrogate?”

 

Scott nods, “She and I dated before we realized we were better off as friends. Figured this way we would at least know the mother.”

 

Before Scott can say another word Allison shows up and says, “Big meeting. Conference room B.” Derek stands and gives a sigh of relief, not having to make small talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for an editor as I self edited these chapters. Work is hectic so not much time to write. But I am working on it...


	6. Bleed your soul onto Canvas

“I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.”

 

†

 

“Banshee for a roommate and two werewolves in one day?”

 

Lydia and Laura look up from their places in the living room, Laura's face reverting to her normal state. Lydia jumps up with a shout, “Stiles that's no way to greet a guest. Especially a paying one.”

 

“Paying,” Stiles looks back and forth between the two, “paying for what?”

 

“I'm here because I want to commission my portrait,” Laura says as she stands and strides over to Stiles, holding out the card he had given her just hours before.

 

Stiles looks down at the card before looking back up at Laura. “I'm currently working on a gallery showing. So I can waive my fee in place of you buying the portrait at the showing.” Stiles hoists up his bag of supplies and walks over to what Lydia dubbed his studio. A corner of the loft, barren except for the paint stained drop cloths, a single chair and an easel. A covered canvas leans against the far wall beside several blank canvases.

 

“There is one request I have for your portrait Laura,” Stiles says setting a blank canvas on the easel.

 

“Which is?” Laura asks walking over to the covered canvas.

 

“You let me paint you as I see you.” Stiles bends over to retrieve and set up his supplies, “I paint things as I see them, not how things seem. You can look at the portrait I've done of Lydia if you wish. With her permission of course.” Laura's hand pauses at the covered canvas. She turns to look at Lydia who merely nods.

 

Laura pulls the cloth away from the portrait and stares. Painted across the canvas is Lydia, laying in an antique bathtub. Her fiery hair is splayed around her, covering her chest and over the edges of the tub. Her face is frozen in a scream, tears running from her eyes. Her legs rest outside the tub but seem to glisten with dampness. The water in the tub is murky and has several cattails rising from beneath the waters surface. Laura stares at the canvas in surprise, “When did you paint this Stiles?”

 

“Two months ago,” Lydia says, “I've been growing my hair out since then.”

 

Still surprised Laura asks, “So it was before you both knew what you were?”

 

Stiles shrugs and gestures for Laura to sit on the chair. “I'd like to start the portrait now. If you'd just remove your clothes and kneel on the chair.”

 

Laura looks over to Lydia who just smiles and says, “You haven't got anything Stiles and I haven't seen before.”

 

Sighing softly Laura lifts off her shirt and removes her jeans, “Do I have to take off everything?”

 

Stiles looks past the canvas, “You'll have your back to me so just your bra.” Laura complies and takes her place on the chair.

 

Stiles starts painting. His brush flowing easing across the canvas. He picks new colours and changes brushes without even thinking. He flourishes when painting, it's why he insisted on it for his appointments with Marin. It's the only time Stiles actually feels free.

 

†

 

Several hours later Stiles stands back from the now filled canvas and says, “You can put your clothes back on and come see yourself how I see you.”

 

Laura stands up putting her shirt back on and picking up her jeans before crossing the room. She looks at the canvas and sees herself staring back at her in double. She is painted onto the canvas in a lavish dressing room. The painted Laura is looking over her shoulder, hair covering half her face, falling over one exposed shoulder. A long scar crosses her back. Though Laura has always been self conscious about her scar, here it seems lovely, almost fluid. In front of her painted self stands a golden mirror much like the one across the loft. In it Laura is seated, facing forward. Only this time her face is more feral. The bestial visage of when she succumbs to her inner wolf. Eyes glowing yellow. “Stiles, I don't know what to say...”

 

“I've always painted things different from how they appear...” Stiles says, “The first time I painted my family my mother had a crown of flames. I couldn't recall why I painted her like that but she smiled and put it on the fridge...”

 

“Stiles, I think I know why you paint the way you do...” Laura says. “When I was younger my mother home schooled my sister, my brother and I. One of the things she taught us about was other supernaturals. She told us that different types of beings have different ways of identifying each other. For werewolves we can tell by a persons smell. Fair folk smell different depending on what they are. Lydia for instance,” Laura looks over her shoulder, “as a banshee smells like damp grass. Vampires tend to smell like soil and iron. Shifters smell like trees to each other. And you Stiles, smell like a fire that's just been doused...”

 

“Well what is that supposed to mean?” Stiles says turning to face her.

 

“My mother said she had only smelt it once before. When she met a demon...” Laura moves over to sit on the chair, “Now you are obviously not a demon Stiles. But I think you may be a warlock or half-demon. Were you born with any strange markings? You could have just passed it off as a birth mark.”

 

“He has a crescent on his left shoulder-blade,” Lydia says from across the room. “What? I saw it that time I took you shopping for new clothes to celebrate your break-up from old what's-his-name...”

 

“And the way you painted Lydia, your mother and I” Laura says from her perch on the chair, “It was likely your subconscious trying to process being able to see things how they really are.”

 

Stiles paces back and forth muttering, “No...no it can't be true...My mother was Claudia Stilinski. She met my father at a bar when he was on a date. She was a singer...They fell in love and got married...They had me and then...” Stiles walks over to a large antique mirror that leans against a wall next to his bedroom area before falling to his knees. Laura raises a hand to stop Lydia, walks over and kneels next to Stiles, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

 

“You know what I'm telling you is the truth Stiles,” Laura says softly, “You just need to see it.” She lifts his chin so he is looking in the mirror, her eyes glow yellow for a moment before Stiles looks away. “Lydia has already accepted her nature. You need to accept yours. And I know someone who can help.”

 

†

 

Fifteen minutes later a knock sounded at the loft door, Stiles who was in the kitchen rinsing his paint brushes answered it to find Marin Morell standing there. He looked her over surprised to see her out of the usual business attire she wore during sessions. She walked into the apartment chin high, hair up in a pair of hair-sticks, gypsy skirt swishing with each step. “Hello Stiles, Laura, Lydia. I hear my services are required.”

 

“Thank you for coming on such short notice Marin,” Laura says crossing the room to embrace the woman, “Stiles needs a little wake-up call, if you know what I mean.”

 

Marin simply smiles and asks, “Which way to the bathroom?”

 

Stiles points to the bathroom door and asks, “I thought you were a psychiatrist.”

 

Marin looks over her shoulder, “I am among other things. I am also a druid. And right now I'm the person that's going to make you whole again Stiles.”

 

“And how are you going to do that?” Lydia ask, standing from her spot on the couch.

 

Marin smiles, “By putting him back together.” Out of nowhere the sound of rushing water can be heard.

 

†

 

When Stiles woke up this morning he didn't know what to expect. He certainly didn't expect to have his psychiatrist standing over him, while he was fully clothes in a tub full of water.

 

“So let me get this clear,” Stiles said looking past Marin to Laura and Lydia. “You are going to kill me and bring me back.”

 

“Not kill... Just get you close to the other side before bringing you right back,” Marin said with a smile before roughly pushing Stiles under the surface of the water. Stiles tried to struggle against Marin's suprisingly strong grasp.

 

Lydia made a move to help Stiles only to be stopped by Laura. For Stiles it felt as if everything was too much and yet not enough. The air in the room weighed down on the water as he tried to hold his breath. But for a split second everything stood still before life seemed to rush back in at full speed. The water in the tub rushed up as if a geyser had formed beneath it, the force so great that the  porcelain cracked ,  unleashing a torrent of water from the tub and pushing Marin and Stiles back across the tiles.

 

Sitting up gasping Stiles whispered to himself, “I always knew there was more out there...I always knew I was different...we were different...Wings dripping with blood...fire all around....” Looking up at Marin, Stiles moved back and uttered one word his voice suddenly harsh, “Valkyria...”


End file.
